Memories
by glasval
Summary: It's been a year since Marik and Bakura have moved in together and they are supposedly moving on in order to start a new life. One night, Bakura wakes up from his sleep after another horrible nightmare, reliving the fear of losing his partner for eternity.


**Memories** / rewritten as canon

Bakura woke up, panting violently without a stop. His hands were firmly wrapped around his shoulders in an x-like shape. The white skin that covered his body was even paler than usual. He didn't ever bother removing his snow-white, messy hair from his face, even though it was blocking his desaturated brown eyes from seeing anything around him.

Another " _bad dream"_.

He was trying. He was trying so hard to break down and shed tears. But no matter how much he tried, the only thing that ran down his skin were drops of sweat, which he found indescribably disgusting.

It was still dark outside, judging from the window on his left. At last, he removed his unorganized branches of hair from his forehead and looked around himself.

To his right slept a tanned, blond Egyptian boy, covered with a red blanket Bakura loved a whole lot. His resting expression seemed peaceful, especially compared to the terrified expression his partner was wearing. Marik seemed to almost blend with the surroundings – the bedroom lit by the moonlight which poured from the window. He was surprised, as Marik rarely ever slept so quietly due to his many nightmares. Gently, the spirit stroked his forehead, removing his hair behind his ear.

Bakura still clearly recalled his first impression made by Marik and the small apartment they had settled in.

" _What is this, Marik?" he shouted at nobody in particular. "Do they actually expect us to pay for this hell hole?"_

" _Come on, it isn't that bad, Bakura," Marik tried to cheer him up as he moved the boxes into the kitchen. He was unusually upbeat._

" _It's full of filth! Just look at the corners. They're covered in_ mold."

 _He pointed at the ceiling, then at the floor and, at last, he pointed at one of the corners. The ring spirit was correct. The so-called "new home" was filled with the trash its previous owners left behind. However, Marik wouldn't be himself if he wouldn't be optimistic and naive, just to contrast his partner's personality and tease him a bit._

" _Don't worry 'bout that! We'll clean it up in a week!" he grinned at his new roommate._

 _Bakura found it adorable, so it's no wonder his cheeks turned to a soft shade of pink. But he was the almighty spirit of the millennium ring. His emotions therefore needed to be hidden. Or rather, he felt the urge to shut them up and keep them away from the awareness of everyone else._

" _Whatever." he mumbled awkwardly and quickly turned away from Marik. Under the disguise of "going back to the car to see if we forgot anything", the thief left the building an leaned on outside wall full of red, cold bricks._

 _He tried to sob, but his teeth were gritted so hard that the only thing coming from him half-mouthed words that seemed to spell "Marik"._

 _Several feet above him, a pair of violet eyes followed his every move, observing his secrets._

Those were some of those memories Bakura was confused about. Was he supposed to feel pain or fondness when they took over his mind? Perhaps he should feel anger or frustration, maybe even nostalgia.

He shook his head furiously at his last thought. The only thing he should feel nostalgic about were the faint memories of his family and the members it consisted of.

Once again, Bakura despised himself. Didn't he count Mairk as his _family_ now? Why did he still hold onto the old grudges from the ancient times?  
He had been fighting himself, his very own existence, for 3000 years, regretting the fact he had been born, loathing himself for surviving that fateful day, denying even his right to live a happy life. All this pilled up and mixed together in the emptiness of the memory world. It grew until one day he couldn't even recall his name, neither the first or the last one.

The person who reminded him was his "host".

"Ryou Bakura."

That name brought back reminders of that adorable boy, who also had a considerable dark side from the emotional pain he had experienced. It also reminded him that he had no body of his own before the boy decided to gather the items and recreate the thief's old body.

Although he dedicated his body and soul to deny it, Bakura held feelings towards that boy. Partially because he reminded him of the child that kept appearing in his nightmares. A small, happy child with round cheeks, purple eyes, sharp ears and a wide, teasing smile that almost reached the bottom of his eyelids. He had been hunting Bakura since the day he had lost everything in that cursed village.

He looked around himself, once again taking quite a few glimpses of Marik's sleeping face.

"I'm out," he yawned as he stretched, almost hitting the wall behind him. A clock near the bed showed 04:28:54.

To be honest, he couldn't care less about the time, but ever since he had left the world of memories, he felt like looking at the measurement humans called time was necessary.

The door that lead to the balcony was large and made almost entirely of glass. Near it was a much smaller window, framed with white plastic. Marik claimed the color reminded him of Bakura. The same reason as to why they had a semi-large, white cat with a big belly waving on one of the shelves in the hallway.

Personally, Bakura considered Christmas to be complete and utter bullocks. What he really found fascinatingly precious was how Marik's smile melted when they went out to see the light or when he received his presents, which were usually just some random hand-made gifts mocking mister Ishtar in a metaphoric way.

The childish, satisfied grin he was rewarded with for creating something of little-to-no importance.

The mere thought of it gave him goose bumps. It was probably because they had no such thing as winter back in his home. Only dried, old curse of the tomb keeper's lineage. That's all that Marik seemed to have before he set on his journey to avenge the death of his father.

"This is so stupid," he mumbled as he sat down on a freezing chair. He, of course, didn't feel the it because his soul was already cold enough.

His breath changed into a small, white cloud and vanished a few moments later. He didn't pay any attention to it.

"I love him and he loves me." the expression he wore remained unchanged, but his hands held his shirt so much that the finger tips turned completely white, despite his colored skin. "So why … Why am I still empty?"

His question was simple, yet the answer was beyond his reach. Bakura leaned his forehead against the round, metal table and clenched his teeth.

Not a single tear streamed down his pale face. It was as dry as the desert he was born in. Surrounded by nothing nothing but dried desires and illusions that lead to nothing other than disappointment.

"I don't want this," he said, "I want to live … I want to be happy … I want to ..."

He didn't finish his last sentence, for he had forgotten what he wished for in the first plaxe. There wasn't even a single thing in the entire world that would be granted for him just by wishing for it.

The nightmares that kept on chasing him night after night never changed in the slightest. They kept on repeating the event that Bakura hated to even think about.

It was the inevitable death of his beloved companion.

Of his dearest, most treasured companion.

Ah, if he could still cry, he would have shed an ocean of tears! He would cover everything in the universe with the sorrow of his fate.

Bakura was, unlike Marik, endless. No matter what he did or did not do, he was destined to return to his final destination, the millennium ring. Even now, with a physical body, his soul was still partly inserted into the ring he needed to wear in order to preserve this form. For eternity, trapped within a cursed artifact made from the souls of those he once loved.

In the end, that was the only absolute result left to him. He cursed himself. He cursed his fate. He cursed his immortality.

"Bakura?"

His heart crashed in the moment he heard that familiar voice calling out to him. It broke into a million pieces and eventually mixed up with the glass shreds left behind by his soul.

"Marik? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Same thing to you, 'Kura." he smiled.

"I'm a natural night owl in its natural habitat."

"I'm serious!" Marik put on his fake offended frown, leaning towards Bakura. He gently lifted his left hand and held it fondly, as if it was a precious porcelain glass filled with diamonds. "I'm here now, don't worry. Was it another one of those nightmares?"

The fact that Marik cared more about Bakura's torture than his own brought out some emotions in the spirit. His partner was being chased by terrible dreams every night, just like him, overlaying with guilt left behind by not only his actions, but also his childhood.

 _That's right. It's okay. You can cry._ Those were the words neither of them could bring themselves to speak, the words that were scattered around them and were unable to reach their ears. Both of them heard them clearly, despite the silence of the winter around them.

And, with those lost words, Bakura found himself in a tight, warm embrace. His hands were wrapped around Marik's back while Marik held the back of the thief's head.

"Are you crying?" his voice was so gentle and calming. It was too bright for a sinful man such as the king of thieves, who had committed countless sins since the beginning of his life.

"No. I just remembered something."


End file.
